


Hunter and Trapper

by unusualJournalist



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Noxhound, Other, These two have a weird relationship, consent is a little dubious, dubcon, spoilers in the notes at the bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:35:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27354337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unusualJournalist/pseuds/unusualJournalist
Summary: In the heat of a knock-down, drag out fight, Caustic got the upper hand and Bloodhound has been dragged off to one of the dilapidated buildings in the swamp for some unknown, but knowing Caustic, nefarious purpose.
Relationships: Bloodhound/Caustic | Alexander Nox
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Hunter and Trapper

Cold floor on their back. The sound of their own breathing in the respirator.   
Based on what they could see, they were in one of the slum houses, the ones with the little cots-- this was where their hands were bound, apparently, tied to one of the metal legs; their captor didn't have the decency to put them on the cot, no, they were on the floor, stretched out flat, a heavy weight in their legs as if they were made of sand.   
The first thing they could hear was the sound of their own breathing in their respirator, in, and out, in and out…..   
There was the crunch of rubber boots on the ground, Caustic's heavy steps, slow as they came closer, relishing the sprawled out Hound before him. 

"You really put up a fight, I must admit." That growl in his voice, his wheezing chuckle.   
"But at the end of it all, I came out victorious; what a pleasant outcome." 

Fingers trailed Bloodhound's chin, and their head jerked, almost hitting the same post they were tied to. 

"Easy, there. Don't want to brain yourself out here, so far away. Do you think they'd find you if you did? Bleeding out, all alone… I don't think they'd know where to look." 

There was a knot in their stomach as it fully dawned that they were caught, like an insect in his trap; their boots scrambled against the floor, seeking a hold, trying to find some way up and away from the large figure before them, but they found no purchase, just slid in the dirt.   
Caustic had thought of everything, they noted; their bandolier, the side pouches, everything was gone, kicked out of reach. Even the extra knife from their boot was removed, though how he knew it was there… A mystery. That wasn't something they told people about.   
The andskoti had even taken their gloves, leaving their hands bare and a little chilly in the early air.   
Fists shook a little, between the tension and the exposure, Hound watching him closely with that blank, hollow-goggled stare.   
Caustic was smirking.   
It was interesting, the way his eyes crinkled up in the corners, belying the part of his face that was covered by his mask.   
He was secretive about smiling in front of people, they knew, he liked to play all his cards close to his chest, keeping a stern, serious look about him; better for the cameras, only to smile when you're witnessing people's suffering. That seemed just as apt here, the way he loomed over them, a wry twinkle in his eye.   
The toxic green gaze trailed from their own eyes-- well, goggles-- down, as if he were sizing up a meal, devouring, undressing them in his mind's eye. His gaze continued down and then stopped, suddenly, rested on their midsection.   
Hound's head tilted up, curious to see what had caught his interest, and they cursed under their breath.   
In the scuffle to get them here, somewhere between bagging their head and tying their hands to the post, their coat had parted, both their shirt and undershirt riding up and exposing just a strip of their abdomen, tan skin, a hint of red hair creeping down towards their belt.   
"Nei, wait," Hound protested, trying to squirm in spite of Caustic's big hand coming down to hold them there, his legs straddling theirs, holding them steadily in place without any chance of escape.   
He grabbed his glove in his teeth and tugged it off, slowly, enjoying every painstaking moment they watched with bated breath, waiting to see what he was going to do next.   
Rough, calloused fingers… They shivered as his bare knuckles trailed against that inch of forbidden fruit, the hair on his hands catching the sensitive, scarred skin, so unused to direct touch.   
They tried to swallow the knot in their throat, mouth suddenly dry, and noted with a pit in their stomach that they could feel him growing hard against their thighs, that same calculating look in his eye as he shifted between watching his hands and their face-- and then, realization. He couldn't see them.   
"Nei, nei, do not do what you are thinking of doing, Caustic," 

Were they begging?   
What an unusual sight. 

That malicious look only grew, eyes crinkling in delight as he reached over them, his heat now pressed up against that bare strip of skin, fingers expertly unhooking the clasps, tugging their helmet off and reverently setting it aside, just out of reach.   
He didn't touch the gas mask, working around the tubes instead, and tugged the balaclava off, despite their repeated protests.   
A chunky braid fell out, onto their shoulder, and he picked up the end with surprisingly gentle fingers.   
Rich auburn, almost unnaturally red, but with a grey streak above their right eye that almost looked pink, twisted up with its brethren as it was.   
He traced the gorgeous red plaits with his thumb, surprisingly gentle for the rough treatment, Caustic briefly admiring the multiple small ones making it up, the way they intertwined with the loose hair that made up the bulk of the braid.   
He followed it up to their head with a finger, the hunter's lip trembling behind the mask, he noted the way the small ones met at various points around their skull, framing the one large one in the center. All of them individual, braided close to the scalp, but coming together to one cohesive unit, easy to fit under their cover and hide.  
Fitting, he thought.   
He wanted to tear those braids out, see what Bloodhound looked like disheveled, fully exposed to him, but there was one more thing in the way, the goggles, the thick band going all the way around their head and blocking access to the braids. 

These went the way of every other accessory, tossed over with a decent amount of care not to crack them, and he pushed Bloodhound's head sideways, cheek to the floor. One big mitt on their face, pinning them, the other one untied the bit of cloth they used to tie off their hair and got to work. He found the gaps between the strands and tugged, coils untwisting around his fingers, the little braids falling to the side, the loose locks coming apart, falling into curls under his fingers. He worked his way up their head that way, noting with glee the color in their cheeks, the heat under his palm as they burned.   
"Easy, now. You don't want me to pull."   
He had never been good at veiling his threats.   
The little ones followed suit, too, tighter curls falling around their face as he worked up one side, turned their head the other way, and worked up that one as well.   
"That must take hours to tend to," he purred, mocking, another wheezing chuckle as he pulled back to admire his handiwork, got a good look at their face for the first time. 

Scars traced the outer radius of their face, across the forehead, down the cheeks, long, thin, veinlike, as if their skin had cracked like the very terrain around them, flooded with lava as it was; whatever had happened, it left its mark. Piercing, ice-blue eyes, the right one with a long pupil not unlike a cat's, the other round and clouded, probably a result of whatever left the nasty scar that trailed up their eyebrow and a little ways down their cheek, the notch in the same ear. Short eyebrows, tense, furrowed as they glared at him.   
A couple hints of grey in them, as well, and not just the streak off-center of the hairline. It made them look refined, he thought, not unlike his own sprinkles of salt-and-pepper, took away some of the baby-face, the large eyes that belied their age.   
Red face-paint, possibly rubbed on with their own thumb, a stripe down each cheek and one on the forehead; probably some kind of ritual he didn't care about.  
Fingers dug into their jaw, turned their head side to side for his own amusement, watching the way their eyes followed him, staring him down like a predator in spite of their position. 

His cock twitched in response, still flush against that strip of bare skin, and they winced, whimpered a little at the feeling, tried to squirm away again, hands shifting uselessly up and down in what little slack they had against the pole, trying to get any kind of leverage.   
"Struggling won't help you now."   
He stated simply, fingers digging into their jaw, feeling as much as he can get to with their gas mask in the way.   
Caustic lost interest in that soon enough, at least, running his fingers through their hair instead, loosening curls, the hunter sighing in relief at the feeling before they could catch themself.   
Their cheeks burned, as did their arms, held up above them so long without relief.  
He pressed a palm down their chest, delighting in the shiver it brought, and scooted down again, trailed his finger against that little bit of exposed skin again, relishing the heat, finger tickling the little trail of hair in the center, tracing down each scar he could see. 

"Is that all you are going to do?" They challenged, brows furrowed above that piercing gaze, ever a fighter in spite of the position they were in.   
"Tickle me to death?"   
Whatever Caustic was going to do to them he was taking his sweet time in it, making that knot in their stomach tense every time he moved, wondering when he'd strike, what he'd do next.   
"Is that a problem?" He challenged right back, green eyes all but glowing behind his facemask, hands sliding down to their thighs instead.   
"Hang on, that is not what I meant--"   
They tried to kick him, despite the fact that he was sitting on their legs, unable to knock him off balance despite their efforts.   
He dragged their legs apart with a raspy cackle, relishing the way Bloodhound flinched at their legs scraping against the floor, caught between his weight and the grit below them.  
"I think it's a little too late for that," thumbs pressed into their thighs and he shifted, pressing firmly up against one leg, his own coming up between theirs to return the favor.   
They let out another humiliating whimper at the feeling, squirming, trying to get away from his thigh pressed so firmly against their heat, his own shoved against their leg and throbbing.   
"I bet you wish you could just shut off that noise."   
He teased, tugging his own mask off, a satisfying snap of straps opening, and tossed it aside, bending down close, too close for comfort, their foreheads almost touching.   
Their shoulders rolled, head pressed back against the cool floor, curls splayed out below them, trying to regain some semblance of personal space-- and his palm was on their throat, and then the other, and he was pulled away, at least, but their airway was blocked, pressure on their throat from above, thumbs pressing in, feeling them try and swallow, breathing much more shallow now. 

The grin on his face was awful. 

White teeth peeking from behind the moustache, the eyes crinkled in the corners, but brows furrowed cruelly, a fearsome dichotomy.   
Bloodhound shuddered under his mitts, his grip tightening for a second, vision going hazy around the corners of their eyes. The respirator was unable to do any good if their airway was blocked to begin with, so it was no help to them. Their legs shook a little, feet trying to find purchase again, only finding Caustic's weight, his cock against their thigh, digging in eagerly as they shifted against it.   
He let out a low groan, the first they'd heard from him, apparently enjoying the heinous act.  
Mercifully, he released the pressure enough for them to take a deep, wheezing breath, coughing a few times, eyes streaming with exertion, lack of oxygen.   
Wide-eyed below him, they seemed afraid to blink, as if doing so would hasten him attacking again, or he would do something where they couldn't see it.   
Caustic waited until Bloodhound had just caught their breath, and started choking them again, palms and thumbs pressing in expertly, as if he were well-practiced.   
While they couldn't speak to his experience actually strangling people to death, they knew he reveled in his poisons, proudly bragged about the numerous ways he could bring a human body down, all with expert precision.   
They believed it, pinned under him like this, vision swirling again, and then they were breathing, deep grateful breaths that burned their lungs, chest swelling as they exhaled again, air rasping as it left their throat, another couple of coughs as their body tried to recalibrate itself. 

He shifted, apparently tired of that game for the moment, Hound too tired to fight and squirm, just grateful to be breathing.   
"That's much better," Caustic hummed, his voice a rumbly bass,   
"It's so much easier when you aren't fighting me."   
The same hand that had been squeezing the life out of them slid down, gave the tent in his pants a hearty squeeze instead.   
"I hope you know, I'm going to enjoy this immensely."   
All they manage is a whine, watching him reach down, unhook their belt, lift their hips by the seat of their pants.   
He's gracious enough not to fully expose them, just their ass, just enough to rut against, to use. Caustic fits himself against them like a puzzle piece, legs over his waist, his hard cock rubbing against their bare skin, just his own clothing keeping them from feeling him outright.   
"Nei," they gasp one more time, weakly, bringing their head up, meeting his eyes and searching for mercy.   
They found none, of course.   
That same wry twinkle, fingers in their thighs, sliding up, touching the exposed hipbones; he wondered what they were hiding under the remainder of their clothes. Thumbs hooking under the hem of their shirt, lifting it, his heart pounding in his chest,  
"Wait. Stop." They sound a little panicked, voice shaking.   
Caustic stops short immediately, hands up and shirt down, backs up a few good inches, their legs set down on the ground again.   
"Oh, too far?"  
"Yes. Sorry."   
"No, don't be. I should've asked, that was impulsive of me. Do we need to stop?"  
"Nei. Not at all, I just need to catch my breath a moment." Their throat is already blossoming into red and purple blotches, shaped like fingerprints, and they're grateful that they've got all those layers to hide them from the other Legends.   
"Just say the word." Caustic touches their knee gently, and they smile up at him, their turn for the delicate crinkles in the corners of their eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone's okay! It was all consensual the whole time, what a twist! 0:   
> If you got this far, thanks for reading! I'm sure the tags were probably a little alarming, and if you can think of a better way to tag it, please let me know. 
> 
> Watch this space for hopefully more of these two in the future!


End file.
